Explosive Alliance

The furrow trenched deeper. "You'll pass?" he growled. "That's all you have to say?"



He did confident just right, self-assurance without arrogance. Although she couldn't resist jabbing, "I guess you don't hear that very often."



The furrow between his brows smoothed as the killer smile returned. "Ah, okay, now I get it. You want to make me work for it. Cool. I can do that. I'll enjoy charming you."



 Charming.



One word smacked her right back into stark reality. She had a weakness when it came to charming men. "Anybody ever tell you that you're packing a helluva an ego, flyboy?"



"I may have heard that once or twice."



"Well, believe it. Thank you for flying us around for the next two weeks, but I'm not interested in filling time in between those flights with convenience sex."



"Whoa! Hold on. Who said anything about sex?" He stalked down the step to face her.



"Last I heard we were talking about a kiss. One kiss. A kiss where we get to know each other and see if the chemistry we've got going is real."



He thought they had chemistry, too?



Argh. She was such an idiot. She slapped the key down on the railing. "So you just want to make out for two weeks?"



"Urn, well..." He scratched his head. "I didn't think we'd necessarily hop right into a haystack or something today. But if the kiss is as good as I'm certain it's going to be, we could have dinner, see how the next kiss goes."



"And if we land in the haystack later... Yeah, I get it. I'm not a fling sort."



"Neither am I. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy talking to you. So if all we end up with is conversation and a few kisses, no harm no foul."



Were they actually discussing whether or not to kiss? "Some things aren't worth trying.



You're leaving soon. You live in a whole different world. My baggage really goes against that world—"



"We're talking about a damn kiss, not a flaming af—"



"I'm at least six years—" almost more, as of next month "—older than you are!"



His steely blue eyes narrowed with sleepy, sensual intent. "And you're hot as hell, especially when you're fired up."



He slid off her glasses.



 Oh.



His mouth covered hers.



 Double oh.



Dry lightning didn't just crackle overhead, it snapped through her veins and along her skin until even the roots of her hair tingled from pure sensation. She wanted to attribute it to his incredible technique so she could distance herself by labeling him a player. But he wasn't even moving. Neither was she. They just stood for a frozen second, lips brushing, holding.



Then he reached, fingers banding around her arms—good thing or she would have fallen smack on her butt. And, oh my, he moved, slanting his mouth over hers and drawing her flush against him, leather and muscle and man imprinted against her. She'd been so long without a man, without comfort and kisses, she hadn't even realized how much she'd missed until seeing a certain flyboy strut toward her on a crowded flight line. She'd been dead inside.



Not anymore.



Nerve endings fired back to life with a near-painful intensity. Touching lightning hurt.



And enthralled.



Her hands flew up to grip his jacket, fingers twisting in leather while her mouth parted under his. His low growl shivered through her, emboldening her to meet the bold sweep of his tongue. Right now she couldn't seem to scrounge for reasons to worry about age differences, past problems and current concerns. Her fingers inched up leather to his shoulders, farther still into his hair, caressing along the bristly short cut at the nape of his neck.



So much for self-control and restraint.



She eased back to whisper against his mouth, "Did you kiss me first or did I kiss you?"



"I don't know." The hot breath of his answer steamed along oversensitized nerves. "But I'm damn sure going to kiss you first now."



His face lowered toward her as she arched up on her toes for more. Much more. Yeah, maybe they could spend the next two weeks necking on her front porch, in the plane and the barn, too. And, hey, the swing hanging from their lone oak tree even sounded fun when she thought about draping herself over his lap and swaying through the air while her senses soared. Of course she would probably incinerate in two days, but what a way to go.



He eased back, staring down with such intensity and not even a hint of arrogant victory, which would have made it easy to punt him off her property pronto. Unless he was a consummate actor, he was shaken, affected, on fire as much as she.



"What do we do next?" She dipped her fingers under his collar along the strong column of his neck, already regretting what she should do next, half hoping he could persuade her, anyway.



"Unless you tell me very clearly otherwise, you go inside and I return to base alone."



He wasn't going to push. That helped, and didn't all at once.



"I wish..." She could be different, impulsive, less afraid and more daring, that she could indulge in carefree sex. "I wish."



He tucked her glasses in place again. "Me, too."



Backing away, he slid the key from the railing as her hand trailed down his arm to let the moment linger just a little while longer. Bo angled past her, up the steps and jammed the key into the bolt. Before he could twist the lock, the door swung wide.



What?



The door should be locked. Seth couldn't have forgotten.



Tension radiated from Bo for one foreshadowing second before his arm shot out to bar her from entering. "Get back, Paige. Now."



Foreboding scoured her gut. She tucked to the side of the porch post, a quick glance over his shoulders revealing...



Destruction.



Glass glinted on the floor amid overturned cabinets, scattered papers and busted bags of dog food. A cat streaked through the open portal and between porch spindles.



Someone had broken into the clinic.



Chapter 7



Bo's focus narrowed to the havoc smashed and strewn through the clinic, his muscles tensing, ready to spring into action. Survival instincts shifted into high gear, shutting down all thoughts except securing the area and protecting Paige. They were out in the middle of nowhere, no neighbors close enough to provide a safe haven for her, and no way of knowing if inside or outside would be better.



Reaching into his leather jacket, he pulled free his cell phone and passed it back to her.



"Here," he whispered low, quick. "Call 911."



He listened, ear tuned for any noise from an intruder still lurking. Nothing. Silence echoed from inside, leaving outdoor sounds all the louder. Paige's panting gasps of air.



The thud of his own heart. A cat purring as it twined around his ankles in a figure eight while Paige whispered into the phone.



Leaning, he grabbed a wrist-thick log off the top of the small woodpile near the wood stove. He'd rather have his 9mm, but something was better than nothing. Scooting the tabby aside gently with his tennis shoe, Bo reached to affirm Paige was still following.



"Stay behind me, but stay close, keep a watch out behind us."



Her body heat and low breaths warmed his back, reassuring him that for now she was fine. Deeper into the clinic, he sidestepped file folders splayed across the floor. Dog chow and shards of glass crunched under his slow treads.



Still no one. He scanned the interior. Exam room doors gaped open, seemingly undisturbed.



A light shone from the back office. He gestured for Paige to tuck behind the reception desk while he crept closer to find... An empty room.



Papers littered the floor, a window gaping open. Bo charged across, tossing down the log and hefting himself up on the high sill to look out. Dusty footsteps marked the ground, ending when tire tracks started, their culprit obviously long gone. Someone had likely heard the plane return and beat a hasty retreat. At least the cops could take molds of the tracks and shoe prints for clues.



Relief that Paige was safe mixed with frustration because he couldn't confront the enemy.



Adrenaline pumping overtime, he dropped back flatfooted into the office.



"We're clear," he called, needing to see her, now, and reassure himself she was okay.



"Did you get through to the cops?"



"They're on their way." Her voice preceded her into the office. Phone clutched to her chest, she sagged against the door. "Uncle."



"What?" Was she losing it? Concern carried his feet a couple of steps closer in spite of his brain shouting for him to stay back when they were both overrevved, raw.



Hungry.



"I give." She swept a hand over the mess. "I'm crying uncle. I've had enough excitement for one lifetime, thanks. Where can I go to order one of those nice, regular boring lives where I get to bring up my child in peace?" Her shaky laugh and crooked glasses damn near broke his heart.



Screw wise decisions. He strode over a toppled potted cactus to hook an arm around her shoulder and draw her in close, for himself as much as to comfort her. She melted against him, no tears, but so soft and sweet smelling his arms held tighter. He breathed in the aloe scent of her the way he soaked in a song to soothe his soul until his world steadied.



Finally, his adrenaline-pumped instincts took a breather and let his brain kick back into high gear—with a vengeance. What if he'd let her walk in here alone? He'd tried to send her to the house while he'd been tying down the plane and working even harder to harness his libido. Who the hell knew when the break-in occurred? He assumed the vandals had left when the plane approached, but they could have slipped through the back while he and Paige had been making out. A herd of cattle could have thundered by and he never would have noticed.



He had to get hold of himself around this woman and quit sniffing her hair like some horny adolescent. But first, maybe he would hold her a while longer.



Sirens whined low in the distance.



"Bo?"



"Yeah?"



"Look."



He turned to follow her pointed finger to the clinic's medicine cabinet—bashed and open.



Four hours later Paige scooted a box across the office floor with the toe of her tennis shoe as she collected papers. Vic was restoring order to the patient files out in the lobby, while Bo hammered plywood over the shattered glass on the medicine supply cabinet, unspeaking, steady. It would be easy to get used to his help, a fact she'd remembered in time to pull herself out of his arms and greet the police on her own.



Was anything in her life not a total mess? Much like her feelings about the kiss she and Bo had shared. At least they couldn't talk with Vic to overhear in the next room, which would give her more time to gather her thoughts—and willpower.



She tore her eyes off Bo's broad shoulders stretching his white concert T-shirt, back to the current clutter littering her life. Thank God Kirstie had finally fallen asleep upstairs, and Seth was on hand to watch over her. Paige shivered. She couldn't imagine letting her child go anywhere now without one of them glued to her side.



The police had already come and gone, declaring it drug-related vandalism. She just wished Seth had taken longer at McDonald's so Kirstie didn't have to arrive home to find five cop cars in her yard.



Yep, five.



Back in Charleston, a break-in would have warranted one car, but crime was so low in North Dakota, they received plenty of department attention, for which she was eternally grateful. All the more reason to plant her roots deep in this stark but fertile region.



Hopefully, the police would have answers soon to this break-in anomaly. Molds had been made of the footprints and tire tracks—a truck. Great. There were only about a kajillion of those around here.



Ah, hell. When had she become so defeatist? Right about the time she'd cried uncle and turned into a noodle-spine against Bo's chest. Enough of the self-pity garbage. She wasn't the confused, duped fool of a year ago.



She kicked the box to the side and knelt, sliding her hand under the office desk, searching by touch to fish out two more letters. She glanced over them. A credit card offer. Another letter from Kurt's lawyer. Two hefty reminders of her sucky financial state.